


Some Might Say Hero

by Girliplier



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, My First Fanfic, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-06-22
Updated: 2014-08-08
Packaged: 2018-02-05 17:36:52
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,128
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1826551
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Girliplier/pseuds/Girliplier
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Some might say hero. In fact, /many/ if not all would say hero. Except for one...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Well Screw That

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, this is my first FanFic and I want to go ahead and apologize for it, because, even though I've read a ton of FanFic before, I've never really written one before... Either way, enjoy! And thank you for the read ::)

You know, it's actually kind of funny, but even two months out, all the news stations spanning the entire world were still  focused on Manhattan. Or, rather, what  _took place_ at Manhattan. No one ever looked back to see the 9.5 millions dollars that went down the hole for repairs. _Screw_ the fact that lives were lost.  _Screw_ the fact that aliens are now a  _major_  possibility in the war on terrorism.  Yeah, there was shwarma and sports cars after, but Tony Stark remained on edge. Tony Stark, who was still stuck in the portal with an alien army sitting in front of him with their hands in their laps and a nuke on his back.

 

_You're not the guy to make the sacrifice play, to lay down on a wire and let the other guy crawl over you._

 

Well  _screw_ that too.

 

Now, anything anyone could talk about was how much of a  _hero_ Tony was,  _Iron Man_ was. The only ones who hadn't commended him on his almost-sacrifice was Fury (and -let's be honest- when was the last time he thanked anyone,  _hero_ or not?), Natasha and Clint (what can you expect, they have the emotional range of teaspoon), and that retard from the Senate, Stern, who seemed to be the only one who recognized Tony's failure to keep the world at peace.

Could he count Captain America in this minority? Cap hadn't exactly  _thanked_ him, so much as redacted his spew of venom from their argument in the Helicarrier. He apologized to Tony after they filled their bellies at the Shwarma place (that  _just so happened_ to remain unharmed during the attack), told him that _he was a hero_. But he hadn't thanked him. In fact, Cap's emotional output during his entire apology seemed strained. But Tony didn't dare ask why, lest he hear what he already knew. He didn't need some poster child for America to tell him how he broke his unsaid promise to keep Americans safe with his Iron Man suit.

But Captain America said nothing more on the subject, and proceeded into a conversation with Natasha, after a curt nod of dismissal to Tony.

 

Two months.

Two months and Tony was still waking up with a stupid anxiety of turning on the television, in fear of hearing his name, and 'hero', in the same sentence. But, thankfully, his 'teammates' had accepted his offer of living quarters at Stark Tower (after the damage had been repaired and renovations for their floors had been made), so Clint was always up at the ass-crack of dawn in the common room to watch adult-swim and action cartoons until well into the morning. After grabbing a coffee and thanking JARVIS, he would grumble his way to the elevator and take to his workshop. Sometimes Bruce made his way down, requesting access to the lab and it's equipment, that is, until Tony finally gave in and had JARVIS make a clearance pass just for Bruce's benefit. Most days, though, Tony remained alone in his workshop, AC/DC blasting through the speakers in all directions, with only JARVIS to remind him that he'd been up for 24 hours straight, or to eat a meal other than a Little Debbie cake.

And Tony was fine with this. Tony  _needed_ this. He couldn't explain why, but he just knew it...

 _No, screw that_ , he thought to himself. He knew  _exactly_ why he needed his workshop, his solitude; if he couldn't make something to  _protect_  his people and himself, he would  _drown_ in... he didn't know what. And he needed his solitude more than ever, now, because if he let himself connect to these people he made a home for, he  _knew_ he would regret if he messed up - _w_ _hen_ he messed up- and he didn't think he could handle it. The _news_ bugged him out, for Pete's sake. And it was really only a matter of time before they noticed that he wasn't as much of an Iron  _Man_ as he was an Iron  _Failure_. _  
_

\---------------------------------

 

" _Sir, it is nearly lunch time, and you've had a maximum of  9 hours of sleep in the past 3 days. For the benefit of your health and well-being, I believe it is time I demand you take a much needed respite from your current work. I shall save your progress where you leave off."_ JARVIS had cut off Tony's music for the fifth time since he began his newest project; twice to state his need of a rest, and three times to remind him to eat something. Too sleep-deprived (not to mention drunk) and concentrated on his work to fully realize what JARVIS had said, he merely nodded and fastened another bolt onto a titanium arm joint while typing nonsense calculations into the computer. JARVIS tried once more to garner Tony's attention, but the man was almost too out of it to comprehend a word his AI spoke.

 _"... and if you do not proceed to the exit I will call upon your teammates to retrieve you and station you in your bed chambers, by force if necessity arises."_  JARVIS finished in a sharp tone.

At that, Tony lifted his head in confusion.  _What did you say, J?_ he asked, before he realized he hadn't said a word. As he gazed around the room in confusion, he realized that his vision was blurry and dark around the edges. They felt dry and hot and he rubbed at them with his fingers, smearing oil across his face as he did so.

"Man," he croaked, throat wet with alcohol yet not having spoken in many hours, "how late is it?" He rose swiftly before over balancing and clumsily landing hard on the workshop floor.

"Whoa!" he yelped, and then snickered at having fallen, too drunk on exhaustion and Daniels to even realize he _was_ exhausted. He sighed after a moment and tried to stand again, JARVIS talking swiftly to him in the background, but he couldn't hear anything as it seemed someone had inserted cotton balls in his ears. Overcome with dizziness, his knees buckled and he crashed down once more, landing with a thickly muted _crack_ as the back of his head hit the floor.

For a split second, everything became crystal clear and he had only enough time think  _shit_ before he heard JARVIS say in a worried voice,  _"... in his lab and it seems as though Sir is experiencing difficulties in retrieving himself from the floor of his workshop, due to a lack of normal sleeping habits and muscle control. Hurry if you-"_ and then a cloud of darkness removed him from consciousness.


	2. The Leaning Tower of Steve

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony wakes up to a lot more drama than he thinks is deserved.

With a raising of eyelids and a continuous ache in the Parietal area of his head, Tony awoke. For nearly five seconds, everything looked warped and blurred, and then his vision became clearer, as did his memory ( _or was it a dream?_ ) of what had happened.

Sitting up too quickly, he immediately fell back against a pillow, his brain threatening to burst out through the back door of his skull.

"JARVIS...." he groaned, low and slow. "What...?" The AI replied immediately, and with a hint a disdain frosting his accents.

" _Sir, you are residing in your own living quarters. You have remained in a dead sleep for nearly 21 hours straight. As for your work beforehand, it remains un-tampered nor touched since your recent bout of stupidity._ " Tony ignored the obvious insult at his ethics and followed up JARVIS' answer with yet another question.

"And... and how did I, uh, how did I get to my room, J?" His insides steeled and his stomach clenched as he waited for the answer he knew he didn't want to hear.

" _Dr. Banner examined you from within your workshop. Upon deciding you suffered nothing more than a slight concussion, sleep-deprivation, and unwarranted drunkenness, he allowed Mister Rogers to relocate your persons to a much more comfortable and easily-accessible environment than that of your lab. He has returned frequently to check that you have not asphyxiated on your own vomit. Agent Romanov and Barton have been assisting Dr. Banner in discovering a way to confront you on the matter when you_ awake." he paused in slight hesitation. " _I must warn you, I was told to retrieve them when you finally woke from your long-needed recuperation.._ " _  
_

It was only then that Tony realized that sometime between waking and JARVIS telling him what had happened, the entire team (save Thor, who was currently in Asgard) had edged their way through the partially open door of his room off to the side. He hadn't even noticed.

Bruce looked concerned, but not overly so; he tended not to get too emotional over much of anything, lest his 'sparring partner' decide to take charge. His right arm crossed his chest, his hand tucked beneath his left armpit. His other arm was angled up, hand grasping his chin in a picture of deep thought.

Natasha had her hands on her hips, entire form tilted in deliberate disapproval. She had an eyebrow crooked  up ever so lightly, as if to extract an excuse from Tony right then.

Clint also stood at a tilt, but his stance was more of a 'dude, you got busted' rather than disapproval. Also, his arms were loosely crossed about his chest, imitating false relaxation.

Steve- he was have half hidden behind them all, leaning against the dark red of Tony's walls. His face was downcast in obvious irritation, and his arms were stiffly crossed, as was his legs that slanted out from beneath him. He looked rigid in every manner, like someone had told him something he hadn't wanted to hear.

 

"Well," Tony tried to grin in excessive bravado and failed. "Thanks I guess." he said lamely.

 

Bruce relinquished his grip on his chin and stepped closer to Tony's bedside.

 

"Tony, we need to talk. About what happened."

 

"You guys..." Tony began, trying at first to play it off as no big deal. "You guys look like I tried to off myself or something!" he finished incredulously. He spared a quick glance at Steve who remained in the shadows of his teammates.

" _Helllooo, do I look dead to you?"_ Poor choice of words.

While Clint and Natasha seemed calculating, Steve had jumped from the space behind them and came down heatedly on Tony in a bout of nonsensical rage and flying gestures.

" _You are the most self-centered bastard this side of Hell, you know that? What kind of person gets so involved in their work that they don't consider their own welfare as something important? You need sustenance to live, Stark! Food, water, and yes you need sleep just as much! I'll be_ damned _if I let someone such as yourself die because of their stupidity! Do you even know how important you are to this team, Stark? Do you think this is all a game? How could we continue as a team without your-_ " he choked back what he'd been about to say and drew himself up in a clear but not too successful attempt at calmness. His voice became deeper and deliberately slower, his eyes half closed and facing straight ahead instead of directly at Tony. "You are a person Tony. A person. And no person should be as reckless and careless as you have shown yourself to be. I thought... I knew you were eccentric, but you also seemed to know where the line was drawn. I guess I was wrong about you after all." 

Steve tilted his face up a little, stood stock still for a moment with his eyes finally closed, and just breathed in and out through his nose. Then he opened his eyes and lowered his gaze to Tony once more. For a brief second, something shadowed his blue eyes, but then he turned stiffly and strode out of the open door and into the hall.

 

Tony didn't know how to feel (aside from the overpowering need to hide under his bed sheets for all of eternity) so he looked to his fellow house guests to help him understand how he _should_ react, and not the way he  _wanted_ to.

Despite the fact the Natasha and Clint were well trained in keeping their emotions off their faces, they seemed to have momentarily forgotten that particular skill. Both of them looked slightly confused and a lot shocked, mouths slightly agape. Bruce, however giving the appearance of the same bewilderment, began to descend into a whole new state of being. Although smothered by his offhand distance towards his emotions, he seemed to be emitting a sense of realization. Such a growing realization, in fact, that it had Tony on edge as to what Bruce  _actually realized_  that hadn't been completely obvious to begin with. Tony knew Bruce was no dumb man. So what information did he get that Tony had failed to receive?


	3. Someone Stupid This Way Comes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After Steve's complete meltdown, the whole tower seems to erupt into a mass of (following a sever case of What Even) shock and awe. And by "whole tower", I mean Tony. Because, of course, Tony is so totally out of the loop that no one 'in the loop' is willing to tell him what piece of the picture he's missing. So, as per usual, Tony grumps and groans and mopes and moans until someone decides to show him some pity and let him in on a little well-known not-so-secret secret.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, guys, I'm sorry that it's taken so very long to get back to this (makes it sound like I had better things to do. Which I did at one point... but procrastination happened). I hope no one's too mad... but this fic qon't be finished for a bit. Sorry to leave you hanging, I know how BAD that sucks.
> 
> PS: This is still ongoing guys, writing between my schedule is quite tedious. I sincerely apologize ::(
> 
> XOXO's Girli

   A week. A whole entire _week_ has passed and Tony has given up on his ~~friends~~. Not that they were ever really anything to give up on in the first place. He always knew that they couldn't be counted on, not for things that mattered to him. Not the things that mattered to Tony. But in the time that he'd been around them, how little it really was, he'd grown a bit of a fungus-like shred of hope that maybe he could have a person, _people_ , to count on.

   He'd broken it off with Pep a while after the Invasion. He didn't think he could handle causing her any more worry that came with the title of 'girlfriend'. So he cut it off, and maybe he cried for a week (until the team moved in; he couldn't risk them hearing), and maybe she hated him for a little while for being so selfish and whorey (he couldn't tell her the real reason he murdered their relationship or she wouldn't have let him go the way he needed her to).

   So yeah, things weren't great _before_ what the members of the tower now called 'The Incident".

   Tony's spiral into insanity began the day  _after_ it, however. He was over his raucous hangover, but was still a little woozy due to his cracked cranium. Thus, he was barred from the lab by not only Bruce, who was always producing a (most likely false) sense of caring when not in a mood-enhancing situation, and JARVIS. The AI was a given, but his co-scientist was an initial surprise. _I guess if you're that worried about getting indestructible pants, it's understandable to keep the guy making them from, you know, dying._  And suddenly it wasn't such a surprise. More of a let down, really.

   Tony had gotten out of bed and nearly all the way past his living room before being bombarded by his teammates. Natasha had apparently been lounging on his sofa before she sprang up and gripped his wrist. Thor was sitting beneath her on the carpet, trying (and failing) to read  _Peoples_ Magazine. Him and Clint, who'd had his arms draped over the back of the couch in obvious boredom, stood with a much more belated reaction.

"And where do you think you're going Stark?" inquired Natasha. He winced and she relaxed her grip before letting go, leaving Tony to rub it. The others looked at him, as if asking the same question. Tony, however, felt rather annoyed.

"What d'you mean 'where am I going'? Out. I don't need your permission to leave my room. It is  _my_ tower after all." Rolling his eyes in obvious disdain, he tried to push past her. Key word: tried.

"No, Stark. Bruce told us to make sure you don't leave your room. And Rogers is still within the premises, so I think it best if you don't accidentally run into him for a while." Tony was already irritated at being denied his exit, but now he was just angry.

"Why the hell should  _I_ stay clear of  _him?!_ He was the one who decided to go all full-blown ape-shit! If anything, I would  _hope_ to run into him, just so I could give him a piece of my mind! And where the FUCK is Bruce?" His breath was heaving, and even after all the time he'd had his reactor, it still felt odd to breathe heavy with it embedded in his chest. Wrong. He pushed roughly past Natasha and glared at the others, daring them to deny him his leave. And they didn't.

\--------------------------------

   It wasn't that he held a bitterness to Steve about what happened, because he didn't. Hell, he'd probably deserved it. No, he _knew_ he deserved it. He shouldn't have been so stupid as to get drunk in the tower, of all places. Malibu was where he should've been to properly dull his senses. There, at least, he could cry if his drunkenness got to _that_ point. It didn't happen a lot, but when it did, it took everything he had not to make a sound while his everything fell from the corners of his eyes to mix with the sweat and oil (and sometimes blood) that covered both him him and the floor.

   It was a fluke to get wasted at the tower and now he knew the consequences of such. _An entire team of anti-friendly ~~friends~~ would over react to something so normal and one would even freak-the-fuck-out and leave me to be as confused as _ he _was coming out of the ice!_ Well. Consider that a lesson learned.

   He found himself in the kitchen, propped on top of the counter with a pack of frozen peas pressed to the back of his head. His feet wiggled nearly a foot above the floor and he once again cursed the genes that made him so  _petite_. A few moments passed before his regrets caught up to him. They always caught up to him; regrets, weaknesses, memories,  _failure_. Yinsen, Obie, Pepper, Rhodey, everyone; they were his failures, good memories, bad, the things he regretted ruining. They were his weaknesses.

   With a small but painful shake of his head, he slid off the counter and onto the tiled floor. Placing the peas back in the fridge, he didn't even realize what he was doing before he had grabbed the pocket-sized bottle of vodka, hidden behind a bag of three month old blueberry bagels. As the door to the refrigerator closed, he stood in the center of the kitchen making a decision he hadn't thought was in the cards. Until now, that is. Because now there were reasons to stop. Not good ones, not by far. Nonetheless, he threw the bottle in the sink and listened to the glass shatter in the smooth dip of the stainless steel. A beat passed and then he was out of the kitchen and heading to Bruce's.

   Where else could he go? Not back to his room, that's for sure. Not with the better part of the gang having basically been told to 'fuck off' not even an hour earlier. Certainly not to Rogers'. When had he ever gone to Rogers for anything other than work that needed to be done? In fact, why was he heading to Bruce's? The closeness he had with his  ~~friends~~ was akin to that of trains; always passing, but never touching. And when they did, it was always bad. The only thing that him and Bruce had in common, even remotely, was science. However, before he could change his mind, he was at Bruce's door, knuckles rapping against the bland paint job (of which he made a mental note to later fix). Hearing a small "Come in.." from within, he entered.

   Strewn across the room were many science magazines, papers, a few articles of clothing, and scattered pencil shavings. Bruce was in the corner, seated at his desk chair, chewing on the yellow of the #2 in his hand. He turned to see who had entered his room, and immediately his face fell into a slight grimace of disapproval.

"Tony, what're you doing here? The others-"

"Why were they all hanging around my room? And why did they try to keep me from leaving?" Tony cut Bruce off. "Didn't work by the way." he added. Bruce simply looked at him, calculating.

"I'm sorry. We just wanted to make sure you didn't try to do something stupid.... again." he said, with an air of hesitance. Tony just smiled a very unhappy smile and went to sit at the edge of Bruce's unmade bed. He cupped his head between his legs and, rubbing his eyes with the tips of his slender fingers, said,

"..It doesn't matter. I know you guys don't actually care, and that's fine, but-" Bruce stood in a swift move.

"Tony, that's not true. We're here and we-"

"No, Bruce, listen. Just- listen to me. None of that matters. I just... I wanna know..." Bruce was still standing when he had been interrupted, but he falteringly made to sit in his chair once more.

"..What do you want to know, Tony?" He asked apprehensively. He could almost see where this was going.. but  _surely_ Tony wasn't  _that_ blind to social clues..

   Tony took a light breath and dropped his hands from his eyes, still downcast.

"I don't understand what I did. Why was he so upset? I mean, I know that I made a mistake in drinking,"  _here, anyways,_  he thought, "but it was a simple misunderstanding. It's not like I  _tried_ to fucking brain myself, I'm not _that_ stupid.." He trailed off, not knowing how prove to anyone, much less himself, that he wasn't a waste, even if it was a lie. Bruce, on the other hand, wasn't stuck on his moment of indecision. He was stuck on Tony's inability to see through his teammates outburst.

"Surely you understand... but how could you not..? I mean.. and he said.. and the way he... wait..." for the better part of his rambling, he hadn't even been paying attention to Tony, but now he stared incredulously at the man before him, who was still seeking council with his carpet.

"You mean to tell me that you  _don't know?"_ Bruce was sitting forward in his chair, now, hands on his knees. Tony's head raised to catch a ghost of disbelieving humor pass over Bruce's face before he turned completely serious. 

"Well what the fuck don't I know? It's not like the tower's that much of a blab fest, no one tells me anything except what to make them for the next mission they might have! All I do around here is make you guys some fun shit and try not to get killed when I walk outside the door without my suit!" He was pissed and it was a lot of different things all at once, yeah, but mostly that Bruce knew something that he most certainly did not. Which Bruce  _apparently_ seemed to think was quite funny.

"Tony, come on! Haven't you seen- no. If you don't know by now, I'm not going to be the one to break it to you. I care, I really do, but this is something else entirely." Bruce rubbed his hands on his thighs, patted them once, and swiveled back to face his desk again.

"Fine. I  _knew_ that this was all I'd get from having fucking ~~_friends_  ~~to count on." Tony spat the words with a searing venom, and before Bruce could turn back around to reply, he had already slammed the door behind him. He already regretted what he'd said.

\---------------------------------------

   Thor was the first one he saw on his rampage from Bruce's room. He had a half empty box of Pop-Tarts and was eating one from a pack when he saw Tony round the corner. Thor knew something was wrong when he heard his friend stomping down the hall, but when the man stopped short and then bustled over to Thor, he was suddenly nervous of what might be ailing his friends mood that involved himself.

"Thor, I need your.. help." Said Tony, eyes bright in anger. Thor took a small step back before remembering that Tony couldn't possibly attack him. 1) Tony was his friend, and 2) Thor was a god and he was a human. With his suit, maybe he could do some damage,  _maybe,_ but most likely not.

"What causes you such torment, Man of Iron?" Thor replied.

"Don't call me that- and I need to know; do  _you_ know why Rogers got so worked up yesterday?!" Tony had a wild kind of look in his eyes, and even though Thor had reminded himself only a moment ago that he was capable of defense against his Mid Guardian friend, and needed it not, he still felt taken aback and a little frightened.

"Why, certainly you have arrived at your own answers, have you not? Should I be the one to unmask the truth for such an occasion so personal?" He was uncertain how Tony could possibly be asking him advice on matters such as this.

"Yes! I would _love_ it if someone would just  _answer_ my questions!" He stared unblinkingly at Thor, who, in Tony's not-so-stable state, looked to be deciding on the best lie to present.

"Ohmygod would someone  _please_  just fucking answer me!" He threw his arms up in a wild flogging motion and stomped passed Thor, who couldn't exactly understand what had just happened.

\-------------------------------------

   Tony was in his room once more, having failed to gather any knowledge as to why Steve exploded at him 3 days ago.

After his spat with Bruce and Thor, he logically ran into Natasha and Clint in the sprint to his room. Watching TV in his living room, they both barely acknowledged his entrance, the only sign that they knew he was there at all was that Clint had twitched a glance at him. Natasha seemed not to have made any kind of move, but then, if Clint had noticed, she most definitely had.

"Don't. _Lie_. To me." Tony said, staring straight at his door but obviously speaking to his fellow teammates. "What's up with Steve? Tell me.  _Now."_ The couch cushions rustled as Clint made to look at Tony before saying anything. Natasha remained trained on the television.

"It's not our place, Tone. We can't...well here. How's this," he began, speaking louder to mask Tony's groans of disapproval. "Why don't you just sit and think for a bit.."

"Think about _what_? What the _fuck_ do I have to think about that I haven't already?" Irritation crept strongly into his voice and Clint went on.

"Think about you and Steve and everything that's happened from The Attack of the Chitauri til now. Maybe try and analyze the situation from the illogical, emotional, human being point of view, rather than the everything-needs-to-fit-a-certain-way-because-I'm-Tony-fucking-Stark-and-that's-how-it's-supposed-to-work point of view." Tony was annoyed at being told how to think, but he had to admit, if not to anyone other than himself, that he hadn't thought to look at it from that angle.

"Fine. Any other _helpful_ _ideas_ , Birdbrain?" Clint began to say something very rude, but Natasha suddenly turned and glared daggers at Tony before speaking.

"Stark, you need to watch yourself. There are more people here that care about Steve than you must think, otherwise you wouldn't have pulled the stunt you did. That or you have absolutely no social skills. Either way, get a clue, and get it fast, before  _it_ gets _you._ " Then she was facing the TV again, Clint seemingly just as perplexed as Tony was at her sudden outburst. He silently went to his room and shut the door with a soft  _click_. 

   Now, 3 days later, and it still eluded him as to why Steve was angry with him. _Obviously_ he still was, otherwise he would have came to his room and apologized for flipping the fuck out before. He had made a diagram of records, pictures, and SHIELD intel about every kind of contact that Steve and Tony had made,  on the first day, but none of it made any sense to the problem at hand. Still, he kept to what Clint had said and pushed through. Now, though, he was stuck. All of the intel he could find that included any interaction between the two, was formal, and lightly courteous (or as courteous as Tony could get without vomiting). Nothing, at all, out of the ordinary. In fact, the only out of the ordinary thing was that it was so ordinary. They were superheroes, living in the same place, as a team, for two months, saving each others necks in battle,  _and they barely said a word to one another._ Yeah, Tony didn't wanna grow attached to anyone, but at least he had a small bit of a  ~~friendship~~ with the other members. Enough to make the appearance a good one. But not with Steve.  _Hell no_ not with Steve. 

   And, to be honest, that wasn't even what really bothered him. No, what bothered him was that  _Steve wasn't like that with anyone else._ Two weeks after the Invasion and him and Clint had began training at the SHIELD gym together. He was taking small missions with Natasha, and had even coerced Bruce into telling him stories about his Third World "adventures". Coffee with the interns, brunch with guards. Literally everyone had some quality bonding time with Captain Friendship but Tony. He couldn't quite explain why this upset him so much, but it did. He couldn't think about anything but all the times that him and Steve had just passed in the hall and gave curt nods and small acknowledgments of each others existences. The rare moments when Tony arrived for breakfast, were also, although he didn't know this until he did all the research, the rare moments when Steve left early. The missions he took coincided with Tony's days of scheduled team meet-and-greets (to keep them all in touch). In fact, come to think of it, Steve had never even been down to his workshop. Natasha came down every now and then for an update to her Widows Bite, and Clint requested time for Tony to fix his (always) broken (SHIELD supplied) bow and specially made arrows. Tony and Bruce had science stuff, in which Bruce would hop on over to grab a few samples of this and that, and on his way out the door, ask what he was up to (in which Tony would tell him something very vague and explicitly give him plenty of reasons to leave, because he knew Bruce was just trying to seem less like a douche nozzle for using Tony as a very convenient supply shop). But never once had Steve set foot in his workshop, much less his floor.


End file.
